Almosts and Might Have Beens
by ZeGabz
Summary: A collection of unconnected oneshots, all taking place in a world where there was no curse. Shamelessly Captain Swan.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This will be a collection of unconnected CS oneshots, all taking place on an alternate universe in which the curse never happened. This first one is rather long, but I had fun writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it!**

* * *

Princess Emma has ninety nine problems.

And they all have to do with a single man:

Captain_ fucking_ Hook.

She has been sitting in on this beyond ridiculous war council for hours upon hours, reading letters from subjects begging for aid from a fearsome pirate, who is apparently as good as evading capture as he is ransacking port towns.

"It's the damn ship," Grumpy snaps, ignoring an admonishing glance from her mother. Emma grins- she's always loved the dwarves. They never held anything back for her sake. "The Jolly Roger is faster than any of our fleet's ships, and Hook isn't a fool. We can't pursue him like a normal pirate, because he isn't one."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Granny pipes up from the other end of the table.

"We could offer him a place as a privateer," Snow offers.

"Why would he want to do that, though?" Emma finally asks, "He's the one winning this game. The only way he would ever give up his freedom is if he was losing." This earns her a proud smile from her father, and she sits a little straighter in her seat. "We need to make him think he's losing."

"How?" Grumpy asks.

"Find his weaknesses," Emma responds, "Exploit them, bit by bit, and make him start second-guessing himself. Wait for him to make a mistake. And when he does . . . pounce."

"It's a wonderful idea in theory, my dear," Granny says in an annoyingly placating tone, "But how would we do that?"

"What's his weakness?" Emma asks, unfazed.

There is no response. The council all exchange blank stares.

"Not much is known about him, Highness," Jiminy Cricket says, "He is new to our land."

"Then send someone in to get to know him," Emma replies, "It's simple."

"You think the man will take in a new crew member just like that?" Pinnochio snorts, "Emma, come on-"

"You're assuming I was referring to a man," Emma interrupts smugly. Snow frowns, catching on.

"Emma, no-"

"Hear me out, Mother-"

Charming interjects, "You are a princess, there is no way in hell that we will let-"

"Um, excuse me?!" Red shouts, "Yeah, um, not all of us have the whole family telepathy thing, so you mind telling the rest of the council what you're arguing about?"

Emma stares down her parents for a long moment, eyes aflame. "I have been trained in hand to hand combat, swordsmanship, archery, and knife-throwing," she says slowly, "I also know exactly what needs to be done for this to work."

"Emma-"

"I am well-versed in coding, and I can be completely trusted. But, most importantly- I know when I'm being lied to. I will be able to read him like the storybooks you used to read to me."

"Emma . . . " Snow begins, although Emma knows that she's already won.

""Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to get onto his ship and make him need me so much, he'll tell me everything. And when he does, I'm going to lock him away forever." She smirks. "I'll pack tonight."

* * *

She arrives at the port where Hook is rumored to be docking accompanied only by Pinnochio. She had managed to convince her father to pull their forces temporarily from the small port and send them to one recently ravaged by the Captain himself. She knew that his next stop would be to refuel and let his crew rest.

. . . and possibly pick up a new crew member.

Kissing Pinnochio on the cheek and telling him she'll be in touch, Emma pulls her cloak tightly around herself and smirks. She has a feeling the Captain will very much like what she has underneath.

And she's not referring to the knives.

She ducks into the first bar she sees, pleased when she hears the roaring laughter from inside. It's dimly lit and it positively reeks, but Emma is far too exhilarated to be bothered.

She feels a grubby hand on the small of her back and immediately stiffens. "M'lassie looks lonely, all by's 'erself . . ." slurs a rum-scented voice from behind her. As his hand dips lower, Emma immediately whirls around, pulling one of her knives from a sleeve and pinning the man against the wall.

"You keep that up," she hisses, voice laced with venom, "And the organs making you act like a barbarian will no longer be attached to your body. Understand?"

"I'd listen to the lass," comes a smooth and accented voice from behind her. "She looks rather serious." She man squirms and nods quickly. Emma lets him go and allows herself a self-satisfied grin as he scurries off and disappears in a hoard of men at the bar. Emma turns to see who this new idiot is, and cannot contain a slight gasp of surprise.

Smiling at her with the brightest blue eyes she's ever seen, and looking far too handsome for his profession, is Captain Hook.

"Getting in on the action?" Emma snaps before she can help herself.

_Dammit, I'm supposed to be charming._

Hook, however, merely grins, amused. "Coming to your aid, actually." Emma arches an eyebrow and smirks.

"Awfully chivalrous for a pirate," she comments.

"I may be a pirate, beautiful, but I'm always a gentleman," Hook murmurs, his tone husky and alluring. Emma's smirk becomes a smile. She's definitely going to enjoy this.

"So you say," Emma murmurs, slipping her knife back beneath her cloak. "But excuse me if I choose to believe you might have . . ." her eyes appraise his figure without shame, "-ulterior motives." Hook's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and his grin widens. Emma briefly wonders if she's supposed to be having this much fun.

"Maybe I do, love," he replies, "But maybe you do as well." His good arm wraps around her waist and pulls her into him, hand coming to rest on her hip. He leans in slowly, breath mingling with hers, and just as his lips are about to meet hers . . .

"Aren't you going to buy me a drink, first?" Emma breathes, lips faintly brushing his. He curses and backs away, stormy eyes meeting hers, not even bothering to mask the desire swimming in them.

"As you wish," he says finally, gesturing towards the bar. Emma thinks she hears him mutter, "Damn minx," and laughs.

Sitting down at the bar, she allows the Captain to order her and himself some rum, asking, "Don't you drink anything else?"

"I can be tempted," Hook replies easily, "But I do have a reputation to uphold."

"For drinking rum?" Emma asks, rolling her eyes.

He shrugs. "Pirate."

"So," Emma drawls, making her first move, "You're him, then? Hook?"

"Well I prefer Captain," he retorts, but smiles. "But yes, Captain Hook at your service." Emma bites her bottom lip and appraises him. "Like what you see, lass?"

"I might," she says with a wink, "But you haven't asked for my name yet."

"Will I know you long enough for it to matter?" he asks, eyes gleaming. Emma takes a swig of her rum.

"Well that's up to you, now isn't it, Captain," she replies with a smirk. "My name could be the most precious thing to ever cross your lips. You could whisper it into my hair, or scream it into a pillow. You could write it on a death warrant, or in a letter to your friends telling them about your new first mate. It could be your salvation, or it could be the end of you."

_He'll be putty in my hands in no time._

"And what do you want from me?" Hook asks as she slides a small scrap of parchment bearing her name over to him, eyes daring him to open it. He does. "Emma?"

She leans into him, never breaking their now heated stare. "Show me the sea."

* * *

The black dress she wears under her cloak is backless, and the looks on the faces of the crew as Hook introduces her (minus the cloak) as his new guest are absolutely priceless. She can tell he is trying to keep his eyes off of her as she follows him around on the ship as if he doesn't have a woman trailing him.

She's positively dripping sex.

And she can tell that no matter how much he's trying to resist until he gets the upper hand, she knows his resolve is crumbling.

She eventually gets bored of watching him marching around and giving commands to the crew, so she wanders over to the helm of the ship, where a stubby man in a bright red cap is steering. His eyes widen when he spots her.

"Isn't the Captain supposed to be steering the ship?" Emma questions. "Emma," she says, by means of introduction.

"S-smee," the man stutters. "And, um, yes and no." Emma arches a questioning eyebrow. "He does usually steer, but sometimes he likes to go around and make sure the crew is, uh . . ."

"Not passing out drunk?"

"Well . . . yes." Emma laughs.

"Is it always you, or can anyone take over?"

"Just me," Smee says proudly, "Don't think the Cap trusts any of the men to do the job better than me." Emma smiles. She likes this guy.

"So do you know where we're heading?" she asks. "A port town, or maybe a-"

"I wouldn't wear that dress and then go wandering alone, lass," interjects a voice from behind. She doesn't turn, already knowing who the snarky warning is coming from. She feels the cool metal tip of the hook trace her spine and stop at the small of her back, and does her best to breathe evenly.

She fails.

"You might tempt someone," Hook continues, his face having made its way to her ear, breath tickling the skin there.

"Maybe that's what I want," Emma murmurs, angling her head to meet his heated gaze as he presses against her back. Smee awkwardly excuses himself and walks away.

"You're scaring off me'crew," Hook murmurs into her hair.

"Their Captain can't seem to get enough of me though," she replies cheekily.

"Says the woman who followed me around for half of the morning."

"I was curious."

"About staring?" She shrugs.

"You wear tight black leather, you leave yourself open to being stared at."

Hook chuckles. "Well in my defense, love, I usually don't have lasses aboard the ship. They tend to bring me bad luck." His eyes darken slightly, and Emma decides she'd be wise not to prod.

* * *

She makes steady progress after two weeks at sea, not a day going by without brushing against Hook or teasing him about something trivial. Eventually she abandons the revealing dresses for more comfortable attire, once she figures out it's not her body alone that has Hook so captivated. Slowly, she begins to get some sort of insight as to what he's doing in her kingdom.

He's after something- some sort of object. Every time she listens in on a meeting with his crew, he tells them to search carefully before taking what they want. She isn't able to gather much more information than that.

They stop twice- once to pick up a few handymen, and for Emma to do a little shopping with some gold she procured from a sailor who thought she could spend the night with him for a price.

(After she had knocked him out cold, Hook had sent him adrift in a lifeboat and told her to keep the gold.)

The second time they stop, Hook tells Emma to stay below deck. She hears the terrified screams of the townsfolk, and disobeys, wandering into the town to try and help anyone she can. She sees a pirate roughly slam a sobbing woman to the ground, but before she can get to them Hook appears and punches the man right in the temple, knocking him out cold. He then turns to the woman and helps her up, before snatching her satchel and leaving her behind.

Emma runs after him, not knowing what else to do, and finds him in the burning wreckage of what used to be some merchant's tent. He's got his hook pressed against the merchant's neck, and is screaming. Emma reaches for her dagger, prepared to intervene.

Hook throws the man to the ground and turns away, looking beyond frustrated, spotting her, standing there in shock.

_Why is that man not dead? He's a witness. A liability._

Hook storms towards her and grabs her by the arm, pulling her to him.

"I told you to stay below deck on the bloody ship."

"I heard commotion," she deadpans, unafraid. His eyes narrow.

"Are you armed?" She arches an eyebrow.

"When am I not?" He manages a chuckle at that, letting her go.

"Get back to the Roger, lass. We'll be leaving soon."

* * *

_Father,_

_I am enjoying my time out at sea. The weather is wonderful- the coasts are golden, and it's as far from the Evil Queen's dark realm as could be, so that's a plus. I got to go to town recently, it's some kind of weaving town, and a friend of mine bought me a lovely new cloak, which I am wearing now. Mother will love it, it's golden and it shimmers in the hot sunlight. The town is as beautiful as ever too. Not sure about the second stop, though. Still haven't quite found what I'm looking for. The crew is amazing, Father. They are polite, although I suspect some of them wouldn't stand against you in a swordfight. I wish you could come aboard, you'd love it. Well, I have to get back above deck, I've been tasked with hoisting the colors when ships pass by._

_Much love, Emma_

* * *

She sends the message before wandering down to Hook's cabin to toy with him a little bit. He's sitting at his desk, sorting through several scraps of paper. She clears her throat to alert him to her presence, and he turns, putting the papers away in a drawer.

"You're getting better at sneaking up on me, Emma," he compliments, "You used to lumber through my ship like a lost child and now . . ."

"Now I just lumber with a purpose," Emma finishes with a laugh, temporarily forgetting that she's supposed to be some sort of seductress and letting herself just enjoy his company.

When she had first boarded his ship, she had expected to find him a ruthless, bloodthirsty monster. And she knows he can be without compassion or mercy, especially when he's angry. She pities anyone who gets caught in his wrath. But the more time she spends on the ship, the more she finds herself forgetting. For an hour or two, she'll climb up the mast and sit in the crow's nest, staring out the sea with a large smile.

Sometimes, she swears she can sense Hook watching.

But somewhere along the line, between their first meeting and now, the sexual tension she has capitalized on has deepened into something far more complicated. She finds herself thinking of him as a friend, smiling when he looks her way . . . it's probably the worst mistake she's ever made, but she's grown attached to him. She knows he can sense the turmoil inside her, but he says nothing about it.

"Is there something you wanted?" Hook asks, breaking her from her reverie. She blinks rapidly, her words and reason for seeking him out in the first place caught in the back of her throat.

"At the town," she begins slowly, struggling with how to phrase her question, "You had your hook at the merchant's neck."

"Aye," he concedes.

"You could have killed him." Hook's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "But you didn't. And since he's alive, he can tell my-um, well, the king's men who you are and where you're going. You make it easier to track yourself, and why? To spare the life of a total stranger?"

"Are you_ chastising_ me, love?" Hook asks.

"No," Emma responds immediately, "I just want to know why." Hook stares at her for a long moment, an internal struggle echoing in his eyes.

Finally, after a long pause, "I've seen much death in my life. I'm not too keen on seeing more."

Emma doesn't know what the hell motivates her to say, "Pirates see death all the time. And I doubt you're the exception."

"What are you implying?" Hook growls, eyes dark.

"It's not just death you disdain," Emma observes softly. "It's murder." Hook's eyes meet hers, neither one wanting to be the first to look away. "Listen, Hook," she begins, "You and I, we understand each other. And I . . . "

"You know about the scars thoughtless murder leaves behind," he finishes. Emma's eyes widen. "You're an open book, Emma," he explains with the same ease she had when saying that they understood each other, "You wouldn't care so much about this if it didn't drive_ you_ in any way." He stares at her for a long moment, brows furrowed. "Her name was Milah," he says finally. "She was killed in front of my eyes, and I wasn't able to save her." His eyes close and his hand clenches into a fist. "I would never put another man through the agony of being a helpless observer of murder."

Emma stands speechless before him, hardly believing that he's trusted her with this. His eyes open and he looks up at her.

"Graham," she whispers finally. "His name was Graham."

She leaves, then, not wanting to emotionally compromise herself any more than she has tonight. She has to write her father again.

There's been a slight change of plans.

* * *

It's not until the next night, when she's exploring the ship (having chosen a pair of trousers and a shirt carelessly stolen from his chest) that she realizes just how insane she's driving the man in the past few weeks. And how much she's overestimated herself.

She's trying to find herself something to snack on, and, being too proud to ask for directions, is stumbling through the lantern-lit corridors of the ship, staring down any crew member who dares to ogle her for more than one second.

He comes out of nowhere, shoving her against the wall and pinning both of her arms above her head with his good hand. His entire body presses her against the wall, and she struggles to not let him feel her erratic heartbeat. His forehead presses against hers but he doesn't kiss her. Not quite yet.

"I would think you'd want to do this in your quarters," Emma quips softly, arching her body into his and grinning at his growl in response. "But I'm flexible." She wonders when she decided to turn back into the soulless seductress, but has a more . . . pressing issue to deliberate, so she ignores the change and just rolls with it.

"Good to know," Hook whispers into her lips, "Princess."

_Oh shit._

Her body freezes, and Hook knows he's got her. His hook trails up her side and traces her collarbone lightly before coming to rest at her neck.

"How long have you known?" Emma whispers. Hook leers at her.

"Since you slipped me that piece of paper with your name. It may be common in these realms, but a woman with your beauty and name who just happened to be at a port ridiculously unguarded? Lass, I may be a scoundrel, but I am no fool."

"Then why keep me here?" Emma asks, "Why not hold me for ransom?"

_Why am I giving him ideas?_

"I liked you." He grins. "I was going to string out our lovely game as long as I could until I knew what you wanted from me. Well, beautiful, time's up. What do you want?"

"That list is long," Emma growls. "Now let me go."

"Tell me," he growls, "Or you'll be sent back to your precious father in pieces." She shudders against her own will at his icy tone, and upon searching his eyes, sees that his fury will almost certainly drive him to fulfill that promise. Fine then, he'll get the truth. She hopes he'll regret asking.

"You're tearing my kingdom apart," Emma hisses, "You're looking for something. I want to know what it is." Hook's eyebrows raise.

"That's the point of this entire charade?" he asks. "Why not just ask me when we first met?"

"That wasn't the original plan," Emma confesses, "I was supposed to find out some sort of weakness and lead you to my father's forces." She doesn't know why she's telling him her entire plan, but she can't seem to stop talking. "But things changed."

"How?"

"I discovered that your legends are far crueler than you are," she murmurs softly, "And I also now know that you aren't just pillaging for the hell of it." Her sincere smile becomes a smirk as she remembers her true purpose. Hook sees the change as well.

"I sense a deal coming on."

Emma's smirk widens. "I will convince my parents to put all of our resources into finding whatever you wish to find. When we do find it and give it to you, you must promise to leave my kingdom and . . . and never come back." She chooses to ignore the empty feelings that accompanies the idea of never seeing him again.

"Ah, but won't you miss me, lass?" Damn that man and his intuition.

"Not in the slightest," she replies, doing her best to seem sincere. His eyes darken, but his smirk stays in place as he releases her arms and backs away.

"I'll take your deal," he says finally. "On one condition."

"What?" she asks, relief and elation evident in her voice.

"I don't need a fleet at my command. Just you." Emma's heart skips a beat. "Finish this with me, Princess." He holds out his good hand as an offering and a promise.

Emma takes it without hesitation. Oh, how the tables have turned.

"Aye-aye, Captain."

* * *

"And you know how that story ends," Emma says softly, stroking her young son's hair. Young Henry looks up at her with bright, blue eyes. "We found what he was looking for. And he stuck to his end of the bargain. He left."

"Where do you think he is now?" Henry asks, eyes gleaming.

"I don't know," Emma answers honestly. "Neverland, I suspect." _Or whichever realm Rumpelstiltskin is in._

Henry hesitates, snuggling closer to her before asking, "Will he ever come back?" Emma pulls him in even closer, hugging him tightly before letting go and rising from his bed.

"I don't know," she says, and the slight dimming in her son's eyes kills her. "But I do know that wherever he is, he loves you very much. And whether or not he finds his way back to us, it won't change the fact that I love you, munchkin."

"I love you too, Mom," Henry replies as she tucks him in and kisses the top of his head. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Emma finds her mother waiting for her at the door, a concerned expression on her face. "That bedtime story took an awfully long time," she comments. Emma sighs.

"Henry asked where his father was." Snow's eyes widen.

"Oh, Emma," she murmurs sympathetically, pulling her in for a tight hug. "What did you tell him?"

Emma pulls out of the tight embrace. "The truth." Minus a few details, of course. Such as the night before they found the dagger, when Hook had asked her if she ever planned to follow through on her teasing of him after a lot of rum. And the night before the Jolly Roger docked at the palace, and Emma had barged into his cabin and told him she hated goodbyes. The way he had kissed her. Held her, whispered her name in her ear as she finally gave him what she had been teasing at for so long.

She wonders where the father of her son is.

* * *

Realms away at sea, a solitary pirate stands at the helm of his ship with a bean in his hand, eyes on the horizon.

He smiles.

* * *

"Do you think it was the right thing to do?" Snow asks, "You know he's never coming back."

Emma doesn't reply, eyes drifting to the window and looking out to sea. Snow knows about the details she had kept from Henry. She knows all about her and Hook. Everything . . . except for his departing words. The words that had spurred her to tell Henry the full story of how she met his father instead of some lie about a heroic sailor who had died in battle.

"_Keep an eye on the horizon, love. I'm not done with you yet."_

She smiles.

* * *

**Review?**


	2. floating

**Title: floating**

**Rating: K+**

**Summary: Emma enjoys her final moments in Neverland before returning home.**

* * *

The stars in the sky twinkle, reflecting in the ocean and making Emma feel like she's suspended in space as she floats. She allows her eyes to drift shut, trusting that the waters of Neverland will allow her a small moment of peace. The water laps at her face, and Emma smiles blissfully as she hears the distant songs of the mermaids.

"Okay, duckling, time's up. Time to return to the Roger." Her eyes open slowly and she turns, swimming towards the small dinghy that got her and her companion a small ways out from their ship. "You'll start attracting attention if you stay in much longer," he adds.

"From who?" she asks mischievously, hoisting herself into the small boat and wringing out her hair. Her companion smirks, gently tapping her nose with his hook.

"You're still a child," he teases, "Spend some years out of Neverland and then we'll talk."

"I'm sixteen!" Emma grouches, "And you're just, well-"

"Centuries old?"

She falters. "Only technically." He laughs at that, beginning to row them back to his ship.

"Let's get you home, lass, before your parents start to miss you. I believe I have enough pixie dust to get you back to the Enchanted Forest."

Emma grins. "You just want me to age so you don't have to feel guilty about how much you like me." He rolls his eyes, looking up at the stars.

"Trust me, duckling," he says softly, "It's not guilt that I'm feeling."


	3. admirable

**Title: admirable**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Emma is reunited with her childhood best friend under highly unlikely circumstances.  
**

* * *

_When she is twenty six and he is twenty eight, he returns._

* * *

She doesn't know what she was expecting when her mother asked her if she remembered their old cleaning boy Killian. Maybe that the boy, who had left years ago to make a new living out in the world, was coming back to work for their family. Maybe that the boy, who had been her first crush when she was eight, was engaged to some pretty farmgirl. Maybe he was coming back for her, as she had dreamed when she was fifteen and missing her best friend like crazy.

She certainly hadn't expected to see a man wearing tight leather and with a hook where his hand should be.

She hadn't expected to see her childhood best friend in chains.

Snow glances over at her from her throne, but Emma's wide eyes remain transfixed on the man kneeling before them. Her father clears his throat awkwardly before speaking.

"I will leave this matter to be handled by my daughter, Princess Emma," he says at last, and the court breaks out in murmurs. Emma scowls through her shock. When will the court accept that she is no longer a child? "Need I remind you all that she is to be your queen?" The crowd murmurs in reluctant assent.

Killian snorts. Emma narrows her eyes. He avoids meeting her gaze.

She gestures towards the guard who brought Killian in. "Speak. What is this man's grievance against the kingdom?"

The guard wastes no time. "Highness, I move to have this man charged with the crime of piracy." Emma's eyebrows shoot up. "We tracked him down in the port city of Tortuga with a woman on his lap and rum in his hand, and-"

"Is that your only evidence?" Emma asks with a chuckle. Killian's lips twitch. "Sir, I know nobility that behaves in such a manner."

"I took it upon myself to search his ship," the guard continues, "And there I found stolen gold and valuables that can be traced back to several raids from the past few months." Emma's face falls as she looks over at Killian for the first time.

"Do you deny these allegations?" she asks. He meets her eyes, finally, with the same bright blue gaze she used to compare to the ocean in the winter.

"No, your Highness," he replies softly, "I only ask that whatever punishments are inflicted on me be spared from me'crew." Emma glances back at her parents, who nod at her with the same crestfallen expression she knows she's wearing.

"Then I suppose I have no choice," Emma says softly. "Guards, escort this man to a holding cell until a council can determine his fate." She meets Killian's gaze one more time. "I'm sorry," she mouths.

"S'okay, duckling," he mouths back.

* * *

_When she is four and he is six, he gives her a wildflower he picked from outside the castle walls. She kisses his cheek, and he says she's gross._

* * *

She sees him smile as she approaches his cell. How he can always hear her coming is beyond her understanding. She remembers briefly their old games of hide and seek, vividly remembering the one time she managed to find him before he returned to whatever was set as base first. He had told her he let her win. She had ignored him.

"Well, well, look what we have here," Killian says with a grin as she reaches the cell, "It appears the duckling has turned into a beautiful swan." Emma finds herself blushing, and doesn't respond.

"Watch your mouth, pirate," the guard snaps. "Your highness, you shouldn't be here. This is no place for a prince-"

"I'd like a moment alone with the prisoner, if you don't mind?" Emma interrupts, "I just want to have a word with him, that's all." She smiles sweetly. The guard narrows his eyes at her for a moment before reluctantly giving her a curt bow and nodding. Emma grins and hugs him before he makes a hasty exit.

"You're still the little minx, I see," Killian observes. "Tell me, how often do you use that sweet little smile to get what you want?"

"Oh, shut up," Emma says with an eye roll. "Don't try and distract me."

"From what?" She snorts.

"Killian, the last time I saw you, you had two hands and did not wear leather pants." He chuckles at that, good hand picking at his hook. "What the hell happened?"

"Crass language for a princess," he murmurs, eyes downcast.

"I figured you wouldn't mind, being a pirate at all," she retorts. He says nothing. "Killian, come on. Talk to me. We used to talk all of the time, remember? I called you Killy and you called me Duckling and we were going to get married so that I wouldn't have to be with some stupid prince."

"I remember that," he says softly, still not looking at her, a small and wistful smile teasing at his lips. "But things have changed, lass."

"Not for me!" she retorts angrily. "I still consider you my best friend, even though you went ten years without a single word on how you were or what you were doing. Now tell me how you came to this."

He hesitates for a very long time. She doesn't back down, because she deserves to know how her precious Killian's eyes had turned to haunted, how he lost a hand, how he had turned into some sort of . . . Captain Hook, or whatever.

"I joined the Royal Navy," he says finally. "I rose to the rank of Captain after three years."

"Of course," Emma murmurs fondly, remember hearing whispers of his success and hoping they were true.

"Then, one day, my Commodore boards my ship, and pulls me aside. He tells me how impressed he is, how he knows I'll go far, and a whole load of rubbish like that. And I think he knew I could tell something was off, because then he told me . . ." he trails off, shutting his eyes. "No, I can't. I don't want to drag you into this."

Emma shoves him through the prison bars. "No way, Killian. You're not leaving it that, now I'm fucking curious!" He laughs without humor.

"You're better off not knowing, Princess."

"Bullshit," she snaps, "I'm a big girl, I can take it." Killian waves her off, reluctantly nodding.

"Fine, fine. He said . . . he said that we could help each other. He had his eye on the rear admiral rank, and he said that if I . . . helped him create a vacancy, he would recommend me for the rank of commodore." Emma's mouth drops open. "I refused, and he drew his sword. I drew mine. The next stop the ship made was at Tortuga, and I was left there with one hand and my sword."

"Killian," Emma whispers, imagining him in his Naval uniform, hopeless and alone.

"I got rid of the uniform as quickly as I could, and eventually procured a ship. Took me about a year. Won the Roger in a game of cards." He shrugs. "Been sailing ever since."

"Why didn't you come to me?"

"I didn't want to come to you until my name had been cleared," Killian replies darkly. "I've been searching for him all this time, to find him and expose him, but I realized- it's his word against mine. Me, the servant boy who became a pirate out of desperation."

"I will help you," she pleads, "I have magic. Maybe I can . . . draw out your memories in front of the court!" His eyebrows rise.

"You can do that?"

" . . . . okay, maybe not yet, but I can get the Blue-"

"Emma, it's not worth it. _I'm_ not worth it!"

"Yes you are!" Emma yells, tears reaching her eyes, "I can fix this. I may not be able to have you reinstated, but I can get you pardoned. I just need a name."

"Even if you do, that doesn't change the fact that I've committed many atrocities. When I lost my post in the Navy . . . I lost myself, Emma. Only I can get myself back, if it's even possible. You shouldn't have to-I mean, the bloody reason I went into it in the first place was so I could-" He bites his lip then, glancing at her and then back at the ground. "Just go, Emma, before the Courts miss you."

"Killian . . ." Emma says slowly, "Why did you go into the Navy? Why is your rank so important to you?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," he mutters, backing away from the prison cell bars and leaning against the wall. "Just leave it alone. And me." Emma crosses her arms.

"Fine. Don't let me help you. Rot in prison for the rest of your stupid life!" With that, she storms away, only looking back once. Which is quite the freaking accomplishment.

* * *

_When she is twelve and he is fourteen, he kisses her lips, claiming he was dared. She blushes, and he doesn't let her forget it for the next few months._

* * *

She storms past her own room, determined to rant to her mother about how much of a closed-off idiot Killian, and then beg for her help. But she hears voices coming from her parents' room, and stops, curious.

"It's a shame," says her mother, "I really did think he would be able to do it. And Emma would have been so happy."

"He was on his way to Admiral within the decade," her father agrees softly. "And he wanted it so badly, too. He really wanted to be able to marry Emma."

Emma has to cover her mouth to keep her squeak from being heard, falling against the wall in surprise.

"He shouldn't have to be an Admiral to marry her," Snow murmurs, "I always hated that law."

"Were it within our power," David says with a sigh.

Emma sinks to the floor, eyes wide and heart pounding.

Well.

This changes things.

* * *

_When she is sixteen and he is eighteen, he tells her he's going to make something of himself and leaves. He gives her a wildflower he picked from outside the castle walls and tells her not to forget him._

* * *

She storms back down tot he prison, and the guard doesn't even bother to argue with her, simply stepping out of her way and walking off. She finds Killian leaning against the cell bars, his back to her. Emma stands with her arms crossed, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

He remains silent.

Fine. She had a Plan B anyways.

"When we were seven, I think, you had a cookie that I wanted. When I asked you for it, you threw a stick at me, picked one up yourself, and told me I had to duel for it. And when I refused, you said something I'll never forget. Remember what it was?"

There's a long pause, but Emma can wait. After all, she waited ten years to see him again.

"A man unwilling to fight for what he wants . . ." Killian finally begins.

"-deserves what he gets." Emma pulls out the keys she snagged from the guard when she hugged him earlier and tosses them through the cell bars. "I know you still believe that."

Killian stares at the keys, unmoving. "What do you expect me to do, lass?"

"I expect you to fight for me." This gets him to turn and stand slowly. "You want to be your own vindicator? Fine. Do whatever the hell you need. Get yourself reinstated, do what you need to do." She steps closer to the bars, her hand covering his, which is gripping with such ferocity his knuckles are turning white. "Become an Admiral," she whispers, "And then get your stupid ass back here and marry me."

Their eyes meet, and he smiles. "As you wish."

* * *

_When she is thirty-two and he is thirty-four, she marries Admiral Jones, and they take their honeymoon on the Jolly Roger._


	4. letters

**Title: letters**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: She doesn't know when she grew so dependent on his letters. More importantly, she doesn't know why.**

* * *

_She doesn't know when she fell in love with him._

When she was a little girl, Princess Emma had two friends-Grace, the a girl a few years older than herself that her family had taken in as a maid, and Killian. Grace was often in charge of babysitting Emma while her parents were in court, but luckily had the same love of mischief that Emma did.

Killian was different.

He arrived when Emma was four (or so her parents told her, she doesn't really remember) and had quickly made himself a home at the palace. As her mother would later tell her, he had been found with a band of pirates during a capture and had charmed his way to them. He, Grace, and Emma would often sneak away and play with the wooden swords her father had given them, and then he would tell her legends from the seas.

When Grace grew up, quite suddenly it seemed, and married a man from town, their group became just Killian and Emma.

_She still doesn't know when things changed between them._

The first time he held her hand was when she was ten, and a court member snapped at her for spilling her juice all over his "fine robes". She had stomped away in a rage and he simply sat by her and held her hand until she she was done ranting about stuffy fat men who thought they knew how to run a kingdom.

_She thinks things started to change when they reached puberty._

Sure, he had always been handsome and his eyes were so blue she felt like she was staring into the sea, but as time went by and he began to look less like the gawky boy with a nice face to, well, walking sex (a term coined by one of Emma's maid, who was promptly sent away by Snow when Emma mentioned the term to her), it changed things. When his voice cracked for the first time, Emma laughed until the cried. When she went away with her parents for diplomatic trip and returned to find his voice now deeper and smooth as butter, she made a little squeaking sound in the back of her throat, and he gave her that stupid, smug grin. All of those teasing jokes Grace used to make about how they would get married one day and sail into the sunset together came back to her in waves.

But those changes that were going on with him didn't seem to happen to her. She was still this awkward little blonde princess who couldn't wear dresses right.

Killian stuck around, though. For whatever reason, he brushed off the attentions of all the young maids who would giggle and fawn over him like idiots, and continued to sneak off with Emma to tell pirate stories and fight with wooden swords.

When she turned sixteen, her parents threw her a grand ball, much to her chagrin. She hated gowns and corsets (fucking torture devices) and most of all, she hated the dancing. But it was a time-honored tradition, and her mother adored balls, so she went through with it.

Her gown was golden and sparkled magnificently. Even Emma had to admit it was lovely, however uncomfortable it was. Her mother styled her tamed curls to one side and finally, with tears in her eyes, placed a dainty tiara on her head.

Killian claimed her first dance, and held her close as he guided her across the dance floor. He told her that she was "the most beautiful lass he'd ever seen" and kissed her cheek.

_She wishes he had told her he was unhappy._

He left that night. Disappeared into thin air, without a word to anyone. Emma said nothing, but she knew where he had gone. Her parents offered to send out a search party, but Emma waved them off. Wherever Killian was, he probably didn't want to be found.

Once a pirate, always a pirate.

* * *

The first letter came on her seventeenth birthday. It smelled of the ocean and rum, and was carried by a small bird that promptly flew off.

_Emma,_

_Before you wonder about it, I assure you I am safe. Although you probably already knew that. Happy birthday, love. I know you look as stunning now as ever. Don't murder anyone at your ball, tonight. It would be a shame if I had to break you out of prison._

The next letter arrived a month later.

_Emma,_

_You'll love this. While we were sailing today, the man next to me began singing your song. Aye, lass, a man sang My Jolly Sailor Bold. Eventually he got everyone on deck singing along. I swear, Emma, I could hear your voice too. Keep practicing your swordplay. The next time we see each other, I don't want to have to scold you on your footwork._

Emma desperately wanted to reply to him, but the damn bird was gone before she could reply.

Over the next few years, he began to write her less frequently, his monthly letters spreading farther and farther apart until they only came once a year, on her birthday.

_Emma,_

_I'm starting to forget little things about you. I can't remember the way your hair would blow in the wind, or even your smile when you would win a swordfight. I can't remember them, yet I still remember your birthday. Don't miss me too much, love. I fear I am beginning to miss you too much. Enjoy being twenty._

_Emma,_

_I am now a Captain of the high seas, and you, love, are twenty-five now. It's almost been ten years since I last looked upon your face, and I know not whether you even bother to look at my letters after all this time. I hope you do. But alas, what is a lowly, savage pirate to a princess?_

_Emma,_

_Ah, yes, ten years since our last dance. I hope you remember it as fondly as I do. You were certainly a sight to behold. When I tell my crew of your beauty, they don't believe me. I tell them how you looked like the sun and the moon. You still do, I wager._

* * *

When Emma turns twenty-eight, she waits by her window for the bird to arrive with her yearly letter for hours. It would usually arrive at dawn. Nothing comes.

And it hurts more than Emma cares to admit.

She doesn't know when she fell in love with him.

She thinks things started to change when they reached puberty.

But if she's totally honest, she's always been in love with him. Her pirate.

She wishes he had told her he was unhappy.

She doesn't know how she grew so dependent on his annual letters. It's not like he's her only friend . . . although he was the only one who would swordfight with her, the only one who called her 'Emma' and not some formality. The first boy to call her beautiful.

Finally giving up hope when her mother tentatively knocks on her door and asks if she's ready for the ball, she strips out of her plain white resting gown and slips into a light blue strapless gown that looks like the sky. Pinning her hair up, she walks once more to her window, staring at the sky sadly.

"I don't think you'll find what you're looking for in the sky, love."

She doesn't dare turn around.

"I'm hallucinating," she whispers, "Oh my God, I've finally gone crazy." Hands snake around her waist and gently tug her back until she's pressed against a chest. A muscular chest. Wow, when did that happen?

"Knew you'd go crazy one day," the voice murmurs into her ear, scruff tickling the skin there.

"Who's to say I wasn't already crazy?" she asks in a small voice.

"I'll give you that one, love," the voice relents with a deep chuckle. "Now would be a good time for you to turn around."

"What if I do and you're not there?" she whispers, voice shaking.

"I have not seen your face in twelve years," he replies in a voice as shaky as hers, "I fear that if I do not see it now, it will be lost to me forever."

"How can you lose someone who's already yours?" Emma replies, turning and crashing her lips into his in one motion.

One of his hands comes to rest on her neck and pulls her into him even more as he deepens the kiss, and the other rests on the small of her back, pricking her slightly. She pulls back, eyes wide. He holds the arm up, revealing a hook. She blinks once, then says:

"Pretty."

He grins.

She grins.

They stand there for a long while, simply staring at each other for a long time, soaking in all of the details that twelve years can add to a person. She notes his stubble and a new scar over an eye, and watches him as he studies the sharpened angles of her now regal and womanly face.

"So tell me, Captain," she murmurs, hand reaching out to cup his cheek, "How long do you plan on remaining on land?"

He winks. "Until I procure the treasure I desire."

"And what would that be?" she snorts. Killian merely smiles at her, bright blue eyes as enchanting as ever.

She never ends up going to her ball, though she doubts anyone misses her. She spends her night dancing with a pirate.


	5. good form

**Title: good form  
**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: It suddenly crosses your mind that, with his being a pirate and all, he might be here to kidnap you. Or kill you.  
**

* * *

"Um, do you mind?"

You have no idea what the hell came over you that made you say that. Sure, you were surprised to see someone new in your training area, but when that someone is an insanely attractive man in tight black leather . . . a little tact might be nice.

And wow, that man has an ass too . . .

Oh shit, he's turned around, and now he's smirking. You mentally berate yourself and pray to the heavens that he's smirking because of your snappy words and not the fact that you were just openly staring.

It's easier to shamelessly ogle someone when they don't know you're staring . . .

You stare back at him defiantly, crossing your arms.

"I certainly do not mind," he replies to your earlier inquiry, grinning widely, "I'd love some company."

Oh great, you think sullenly, he's clever. It's always harder to get rid of the clever ones.

"Do you know who I am?" you ask, internally wincing at how completely pretentious you sound. The man raises an eyebrow, and it is then that you notice that one of his hands, the one not clutching a sword, isn't there, a hook in its place.

Wait a sec . . .

He must notice the way your eyes fix in on his hook, because he gives a dramatic bow, his eyes never leaving yours, saying, "No, but it appears you do."

"I do not!" you say indignantly. Wow, can you say anything to this man that doesn't make you sound like a complete brat? His grin widens.

"You're lying, but I'll indulge you." Your eyes narrow. "Killian Jones at your service, although you may know me by my more colorful moniker-"

"-Hook," you finish icily, hand coming to rest on the hilt of your sword, still on your belt. He nods cheerfully, and your brow furrows.

Okay, so one of the most notorious pirates in all the realms is standing in your private training room, apparently has no idea who you are, or does and is choosing to ignore it. You don't remember ever being trained for this specific scenario. Damn.

"There should be a Captain there somewhere," he says, and you roll your eyes.

"Captain there Hook," you say without missing a beat, unable to contain your smirk. He bites his lip at that, and dammit if it isn't the most sexual thing you've seen in a really long time. You wonder if all pirates are like this. The silence stretches, and he simply stands there, looking at you. Okay, is he going to move so you can do what you came here for, or-

Wait.

Is he even supposed to _be_ here?

He seems to read your mind, because then he says, "Before you ask, I doubt the guards would appreciate seeing me with a delicate flower such as yourself."

"Well, duh," you mutter, not letting him provoke you. He just keeps standing there. "Could you go away now?"

"Why would I do that, love?" he laughs. "I'm enjoying this conversation."

"How nice," you say sarcastically, electing to just ignore him and, grabbing your throwing knives from a pocket on your belt, turn away from him and begin throwing them at the target dummy. You feel his eyes on you, and pointedly ignore him, your annoyance fueling you.

Besides, you never miss.

Especially with an attractive man watching.

"You have excellent aim," he says, and you almost jump, because his voice is directly behind her and definitely too close for comfort.

It suddenly crosses your mind that, with his being a pirate and all, he might be here to kidnap you.

Or kill you.

Why the_ hell_ did this not cross your mind earlier?

Your hand reaches down and grips the hilt of your sword. You're not your father, you've never been much of a swordsman, you're similar to your mother in that respect, your weapon is your agility and precision.

You draw your sword and turn at the same time, and his sword is immediately drawn. He reflects the blow with one arm, almost lazily.

"I was wondering when you would catch on, _Princess_," he says with a dark smile, and you grimace. Jeez, this man's really good. Like, Charming good. Just your luck. Your eyes scan the area, and you wonder if he'll let you grab your knives so this fight can be a little fairer.

Probably not.

He attacks this time, and you barely have time to lower your sword and deflect.

"Good form," he compliments. His swing is strong, and you know that if you play this way, you're going to lose. "But not good enough," he adds, reading her thoughts. You begin to swing your sword wildly, driving him back. Annoyed, you notice that he has the audacity to be smiling.

"So tell me, Hook," you say in a vain attempt to distract him, "You here to kill me or kidnap me for ransom?" Hook laughs.

"I was originally supposed to kidnap you," he admits, gleefully springing forward with a swipe that very nearly chops your hand off. "But now I think that if I don't kill you now, I'll regret it later."

"Oh, but we're having _so much fun_!" you snap, kicking him in the stomach and knocking him to the ground long enough for you to run back to your knives and grab enough to take out his eyes and a few other . . . vital organs. When Hook scrambles up and sees that you're now in your element, you can see him start to backtrack.

"Now it's fun," he says with a chuckle. "I _like_ you, Princess."

You snort. "I can tell by the way you just threatened to kill me."

He shrugs. "Nothing personal, sweetheart."

"Right. Trying to kill me. Not personal _at all,_" you deadpan. He laughs at you, and your grip on your knife loosens.

"You have spirit," he says, "Maybe that's why Regina wants you alive." Your blood runs cold at that woman's name, and your grip on your knife tightens again. He must detect the change, because the next words out of his mouth are:

"What's the nature of your disagreement with the witch?" You roll your eyes.

"She hates my mom." His eyebrows raise.

"Really?"

"No, I'm just joking," you reply sarcastically, aiming your knife. "She wants my mother to suffer," you explain, "Best way to do that is by taking away her pride and joy." You frown as you realize, "She wants to rip out my heart." Hook seems taken aback by this revelation, his smirk melting away.

"Truly?" he whispers. You shrug.

"Wouldn't be the first time." You meet his gaze. "I can only hope it's quick."

"It's instant," he says, and your eyebrows shoot up. His sword clatters to the ground.

"Wait, are you-" you begin, surprised.

"I may be a pirate," Hook says softly, eyes boring into hers, "But I bristle at the thought of a woman losing her heart." You lower your arm that's holding the knife as he cheekily adds, "Unless it's over me." He bends down, picking up his sword and then sheathing it. "I daresay our paths will cross again," he says with a wink, before striding out of the training area.

You blink a few times, an unwanted smile forming on your face, and find yourself hoping that he's right.


	6. pillow talk

**Title: pillow talk  
**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Emma wakes up in a very unconventional manner. (context: Emma and Killian were friends before he became a pirate)  
**

* * *

The first thing Princess Emma is aware of as she slowly wakes is a supreme feeling of contentment and warmth. Her maids have not yet opened her curtains to let in the blazing sunlight, so her room is blissfully dark. She loves mornings like this, where she can wake up on her own time, without being surrounded by servants on a clock and Blue telling her where she needs to be.

The next thing Emma is aware of is the fact that the warmth she felt earlier is all centered right next to her and it feels awfully like a-

"_HOLY SHIT_!" Emma screams, finally fully awake, kicking wildly at whoever the hell is sleeping next to her. She hears a startled yelp as the intruder tumbles to the ground, and she scrambles to the other side of her bed, gathering her bedsheets up at her chest.

_Like that'll do any good._

When the head pops up from the other side of her bed, she lets out another scream until she recognizes the face, which is looking quite flustered and altogether much too handsome.

"Seven hells, love, that was quite the rude awakening!" She blinks rapidly.

"Killian?!" He winks.

"The one and only!" She stares at him, mouth agape, for a long moment, before grabbing her pillows and throwing them at his head furiously.

"What-" _toss_ "-the-" _toss_ "hell-" _toss_ "-Killian?!" she yells before running out of pillows. Killian dodges them all easily, grinning widely the entire time.

"How many bloody pillows do you have?" he chuckles. Emma narrows her eyes at him, staring him down as he picks himself up off the ground and hops right back onto her bed.

"Killian," she says slowly.

"Yes?" he asks.

Cheeky bastard.

"Why were you in my bed?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Looked comfortable."

"Okay then. Why were you in my room?" Emma scoffs.

"I wanted to see you, lass. But you were already asleep," he says, "You know that you snore, love?" She narrows her eyes at him, wishing she had another pillow to toss.

"And it never occurred to you to oh, I don't know, wake me up?" she demands.

Again, he shrugs. "You looked peaceful." Emma blinks at that, not exactly sure how she's supposed to take that.

"So you decided to watch me in my sleep."

"Yes."

"That's not creepy at all," she says sarcastically.

"Thanks. I appreciate your understanding, love." At that, she shoves him.

"What if my dad had walked in and seen you, Killian? He would have both of our heads!" Killian rolls his eyes.

"Ah, but you see, Emma, I'm never caught."

"You just were."

"Ah, well that's different."

"Really? How?"

"You best me all of the time, Princess." She quirks an eyebrow.

"True. But still, Killian. If my parents knew we were still seeing each other even after you ran off to become a pirate-"

"Save the lecture, love, I know the stakes."

"And yet you still slept with me." She realizes how her statement sounded as the words leave her mouth, and she groans as Killian's smirk widens into a smug grin.

"Well, love, if you really are so bent on it-"

"Who said it was me who would be doing the bending?" she retorts, unable to help herself. She sees the spark of delight in Killian's eyes before he scoots closer to her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into him. She laughs joyfully, squirming in his embrace, before he pins her down in the pillows.

"You wanna play this game?" she asks challengingly. His fingers dance on her waist, tickling her mercilessly, and she laughs, arms swatting at him uselessly.

"You know I'll win," he murmurs, leaning down until their foreheads are touching. Emma's breath catches in her throat and she manages a breathless smile.

"You sure, pirate?" she teases in a whisper, leaning up as if to kiss him, and when his eyes close, she lurches up, flipping them until she is straddling him, smiling victoriously.

"This certainly doesn't feel like a loss," Killian remarks beneath her, eyes sparkling with unspoken innuendos she knows he's dying to toss at her.

"Oh?" Emma asks innocently, "And what exactly does it feel like, Killian?"

"He winks. "I shouldn't tell you. You might blush." Emma scoffs.

"Me, blush?" She rolls her eyes. "You're the one being straddled."

"I am very aware of that," Killian replies, "But alas, it is very easy to make you blush." Emma pokes him hard in the chest.

"Is not!" He arches an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then why are you blushing now?" She glares, but pointedly doesn't deny it, and he smiles. "I have to go soon, Emma. My crew will be wondering where I am." Emma frowns, slipping off of him and lying down next to him.

"You should have woken me up," she says once again, although this time completely sincere. "We've barely seen each other since you went to sea."

"I know," Killian replies apologetically, kissing her on the top of her head and wrapping his arms around her in a gentle hug. "I'm sorry."

Emma breathes him in- he smells like the sea.

"I'll miss you," she admits softly. He looks down at her with a wistful smile.

"I'll miss you too, lass," he replies before letting her go and climbing out of her window.


	7. the privateer

**Title: the privateer  
**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: No matter what his letters of Marque say, he's still a pirate and she's still a Princess.  
**

* * *

_He meets the Princess for the first time when she struts onto his ship as if she owns, flanked by her guards, and demands to see the Captain._

"Take me to your captain!" he hears from his perch at the helm. "Now!" He shoots a curious glance at Smee, who is staring down a the deck with an open mouth. He wonders if he's mistaken because he's been at sea for so long, but he swears that the voice is female.

She's brought up to the helm, and his suspicions are confirmed. Her blonde hair falls down her back in messy curls, and she's dressed in a black dress that stops at her knees with a tightly laced red corset. Instead of a tiara, her hair is kept out of her face bright a red scarf, and her feet are covered by riding boots.

Of course he recognizes her. He doubts anyone in the kingdom doesn't know what she looks like- her beauty is renowned almost more than her rebellious spirit. She strides right on up to him, waving back her guards, who appear very stressed. Hook chuckles, grinning at them despite himself.

"You're the Captain?" she asks, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. He gives her a mocking bow, his grin widening when she snorts at him.

"At your service, Princess," he says with a wink. She rolls her eyes, but not before she lets her eyes wander up and down his body. They linger on his hook, but her face displays no visible reaction. He's impressed.

"Are you?" she questions softly, meeting his amused gaze with a challenging one, and he catches on that she's here for more than some sexually charged banter.

"Well that depends, Highness," he replies, "What exactly is it that you want from me?" She smirks at his tone, which is swimming in innuendo. He smirks back, enjoying this little game far more than he probably should.

"Have you ever heard of a privateer, Captain?" All of his crew within earshot of the Princess (which is plenty, the bloody woman is quite loud) begin laughing, and he can't suppress a slight chuckle of his own.

"What's so funny?" the princess demands, crossing her arms. Seven hells, is that woman pouting? Is this princess, a grown woman, pouting? He begins to full-out laugh then, and doesn't stop until his sides hurt and he's having trouble breathing. The princess just arches an eyebrow at him. "Are you done?" she asks.

"Laughing, yes," Hook replies with a smile, "With you? No."

"Good," the princess replies without missing a beat, "Because I wish to enlist you and your crew into my private services."

* * *

_He hugs the Princess for the first time when she saves his life in battle. He tells himself it's simply because he's relieved, because no matter what his letters of Marque say, he's still a pirate and she's still a Princess._

"Hook!"

He turns at Princess Emma's shriek of warning and just manages to duck, feeling the whisk of air as a sword whips past where his head had been. He drops to the ground then, kicking out his assailant's legs and knocking him to the ground. He grabs the man's sword and then frantically searches for Emma, looking quite ridiculous with two swords in his hand.

He finds her taking cover behind a large tree at the edge of the clearing where they were attacked, on their way to some diplomatic meeting she didn't want to attend. He has no doubt she will rub this incident in her parents' faces when she finally returns home. He slides in beside her, breathing heavily, sheathing his sword.

"You okay?" she breathes.

"Yes," he replies, "You?" She shrugs.

"I've been better." He glances over at her, curious as to why she isn't in the thick of the battle. The Princess has always been one to run headfirst into any action she comes across. She sighs. "I ran out of knives," she admits. "So I decided to take cover here and watch your back."

He grins. "You ran out of knives?"

"Oh, shut up," she mutters, nudging him. "Get back out there and finish this up so we can get this stupid meeting over with."

"Only if you go with me," Hook says with a wide smile, handing her the sword he picked up. Her eyes drift up to meet his, and before he knows it, she's in his arms, hers wrapped around his waist and her head resting on his chest. "About bloody time," he jokes, his voice huskier than he'd like it to be.

"Head in the game," she admonishes gently, pulling out of his embrace with a soft smile. "Let's go kick some ass."

* * *

_The first time he kisses the Princess, it's in the gardens of her palace and completely by accident._

The ballroom of the palace is grand and beautiful, granting guests a beautiful view of the coast or easy access tot he palace gardens, which are now illuminated by enchanted floating candles, courtesy of the Blue Fairy. Hook lingers outside of the ballroom, concealing himself among the rose bushes that many of the guests stay away from for fear of snagging their gowns. He, however, a) is wearing leather and b) doesn't give a damn.

He peers through the windows, hoping to perhaps catch a glimpse of the guest of honor, Princess Emma, who is turning twenty-five. Try as he might, however, he struggles to find her amongst the sea of people, even though it is usually quite easy. Emma Swan is never one to blend in with a crowd. He picks out a few familiar faces, however. Princess Belle, newly freed from captivity, is smiling and talking to Red. The King and Queen are dancing, and everyone he spots looks very happy. It's kind of sickening.

"Looking for someone?" comes an all too familiar voice from behind him. He spins around and his eyes widen substantially.

The Princess is like a vision, eyes sparkling in the candlelight and a smirk on her face. Her golden curls, usually pulled back in a ponytail or messy bun, are pulled back and gathered to one side. She wears an ivory ballgown with a sweetheart neckline that leaves little to the imagination, and her lips are tinted red.

"You clean up nice," he manages to say, feeling a little breathless at the sight of her. She grins at that, twirling once. He laughs at her frivolity, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

"This dress is a nightmare," she admits, walking forward, "It's itchy as hell and I feel like it adds ten pounds to my weight. I'm going to be exhausted by the end of the night after lugging this heap of silk around."

"You seem awfully grumpy for a girl who is having a birthday ball."

"And you seem awfully close for a man who's been given leave to sail as he chooses, since I am not requiring your services at this time." He shrugs.

"I wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Princess," he says. She steps closer to him, almost too close for comfort, and her hand comes up and rests on his chest.

"Thank you," she whispers. "Everyone in that ballroom- they're not there for me. They're there because they want to dance, or see the palace, or see my parents, or be able to say they've been to a royal event . . . nobody is there for me." She tilts her head to the side slightly, meeting his gaze. "Are you here for me, Captain?" she breathes softly.

"Always," he replies instantly, arms wrapping around her waist by instinct. Her lips curl into a wonderful smile, and before he realizes it, he's kissing her, and she's kissing him back.

* * *

_He says he loves her offhandedly, and doesn't realize it until he realizes she's stopped talking._

"Are you positive we're on the correct course, Captain?" she asks, coming up beside him, "I told the herald we would reach the encampment by nightfall." She narrows her eyes. "I did not tell him falsely, did I?"

"I am positive," Hook bites out, "You're just being impatient." She snorts.

"It's mid afternoon. Pardon me if I wish to leave a good impression on my army."

"Your parents' army," he corrects, inwardly laughing. She gets very annoyed when her authority is challenged, especially when her parents are brought into the mix. She knows that he knows this, so she doesn't punch him . . . hard.

"I am being serious, Hook. We need to arrive on time," she says, "...Hook?"

"I swear, Princess, if we get to the point of you asking me, 'Are we there yet?' I will have you walk the bloody plank," he mutters. She snickers.

"I'll keep that in mind."

She begins to rattle off some story about how she once managed to climb onto the roof of the palace without getting caught, gleefully including every single detail she can remember. She has to know how annoying she is being, and despite the fact that they have shared several kisses, they aren't yet at the point where he has to hold his tongue lest he offend her.

But he says nothing, indulging her need to chat him up out of boredom, and instead remembering how her lips felt against his . . . .

"And so then I grabbed Red's chair, and I started to climb-"

She can really go on and on, can't she?

"You're lucky I love you," he mutters under his breath.

And it's true. This woman, this fierce princess who fights with knives and rides into battle at her father's side, has taken his broken heart and pieced it back together again. She has given him purpose and hope- something he never expected to know ever again. She has bested him time and time again, yet he can't bring himself to mind because she is so bloody amazing. And most importantly, she's fun. The lass is constantly teasing or laughing, never missing the chance to display her razor sharp wit.

He's so lost in thought that he doesn't notice that she's stopped her storytelling and is staring at him with wide eyes.

He glances over at her.

"What?"

She blinks. "Did you just say you love me, Hook?"

His heart rate instantly speeds up, and he mentally curses himself for thinking she wouldn't hear him. "Is there any use denying it, love?" he asks.

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Well, uh . . . that depends."

"On what?"

"Whether you mean it." She clears her throat, then asks in a very small voice, "Do you mean it?" He stares at her for a long moment, hands gripping the ship's wheel tightly.

"Yes," he relents quietly.

She regards him for a long moment, eyes searching his. "I love you too," she says finally, a small smile appearing on her face. "Oh, my father will murder me. Then you."

Hook grins widely, leaving the ship's wheel to hug her tightly and pepper kisses in her hair.

* * *

_He tells her his name for the first time when he thinks he'll never see her again._

He knows there is only one way that they will survive this.

Despite their intensifying relationship, Hook continues serving as her personal privateer, fetching criminals for her or finding her precious items. As time goes by, she begins to spend less time accompanying him on these adventures and more in court, which he knows she detests. It's what made him so glad she was able to go with him on a quest to climb a beanstalk, a story that her father had mentioned in passing about her uncle.

Now he wishes she had never come.

King George, Emma's cruel and bitter great uncle, was launching an attack on a port city they had stopped in for gathering supplies. He had sent a messenger to the princess, agreeing to put an end to the attack if she surrendered herself to him.

Naturally, she agreed.

"You cannot do this, Emma!" he implores, "Princess, I am begging you. He is not like Regina- he will kill you right away. You will not have a chance to escape at all!"

"So I should let this man kill these innocent people?" Emma retorts angrily, "Please, Hook, just hear me out. Trust me. I can escape him."

"Killian."

"What?"

"My real name is Killian," he repeats, "Killian Jones." He steps towards her and gently cups her face in his hand and hook. "Just thought you might care to know in case you don't come back." She stares into his eyes, expression sad.

"You don't expect me to."

"No, lass, I daresay that I don't." She bites her bottom lip and nods quietly.

"Well then, I suppose this is goodbye," she whispers, "But I'll have you know that I plan on coming back."

"Let's make a wager, then," Hook replies, "If you don't return, then-"

"You have my permission to kill George in whatever way you deem fitting," Emma finishes for him with a dark smirk. "And if I do return . . . "

"You marry me," Hook finishes instantly. Emma's eyes widen in surprise before she breaks into a jubilant smile.

"You're on," she says, shaking his hand. "But I'll have you know that I will come back," she murmurs, giving him one last kiss on the cheek before striding off to surrender herself.

Eyes shining sadly, Hook shakes his head.

"I very much hope so," he whispers.

_She wins the wager, and he marries her. And when she becomes Queen, she earns a new name amongst her people:_

_The Pirate Queen._

_But of course, that's an entirely different story._


	8. the rescue

**Title: the rescue  
**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: These sailors are just like her. They understand that the sea is in her blood, and they allow her to embrace it fully. Never before has she ever felt so strong and capable in her life. It's thrilling and addictive and she doesn't want it to end.**

* * *

Princess Emma loathes getting caught off guard.

For years upon years, she has been sneaking out of the palace in a peasant's dress and cloak and heading into town for drinks or just to walk around. Never once has she gotten into any serious trouble, though.

Not until that night.

She had been trekking through the woods, half drunk, attempting to make it back to palace grounds before sunrise when she stumbled upon Queen Regina, looking quite pleased with herself. The next thing she knew, she was in a cage and on a bumpy ride to the Evil Queen's palace.

It's been about a week, or so she believes. She has been keeping track of the sunrises on the wall of her cell, and seven scrawny marks are on her wall. She wonders why the Evil Queen hasn't ripped her heart out yet, but chooses not to dwell on it. Not like she minds the delay.

She picks idly at the chains on her now raw wrists, wishing she hadn't bothered to try and slip out of them. Now she is just in pain, and despite her endless searching, there is no way out of the cell that she could find.

When her door opens and a cloaked figure brushes in before shutting the door, Emma sits up quickly. She may not have her sword and knives with her, but she damn well can kick. The figure takes off his hood, revealing a handsome face, only a few years her senior she suspects.

"Who the hell are you?" she demands. He stops what he's doing and glances up at her in surprise.

"Am I in the right cell?" he asks, although the sparkle in his eyes tells Emma that he knows exactly where he is.

"How would I know, you're the one with the keys, buddy!" she fires back. He snickers, and Emma's eyes catch a glimpse of something shining in his left hand.

"Oh no lass, it's not that," he replies, ridding himself of his cloak. Emma's eyes settle quickly on his gleaming hook, which is set right where his left hand should be.

"Then what is it?" she asks, not knowing whether she's talking about his hook or whatever the hell he's talking about.

"Well, I was told I would be rescuing a princess." This gets her attention. She stares up at him defiantly as he kneels down and begins unlocking her chains.

"What makes you think I'm not one?" she asks as her left hand comes free.

"Well for one, your language."

"Well that's too damn bad," Emma drawls sarcastically. "Doesn't change who I am," she adds as the other cuff slides off her wrist. The stranger glances down at her raw wrists and back up at her, concern briefly flitting through his blue eyes.

"Did you try to escape already?" he asks.

"No, I just sat here and waited patiently for my death," Emma deadpans, "Because that's the smart thing to do." He chuckles.

"Oh, you're a feisty little thing, aren't you?" he asks, helping her stand. "Can you walk on your own?"

"I'm a princess, not an invalid," Emma mutters as he shrugs out of his cloak (is he wearing all leather?!) and tosses it to her. "Why are you giving me this?"

"The guards may be dull, but they would recognize you in an instant," he replies, "This gives us a slight advantage until they figure out that you're missing."

"Because a man dressed in leather and a woman in a hooded cloak isn't suspicious at all," Emma says dryly, but seeing his point, she slips the cloak on and puts the hood over her head.

"Still beautiful," the man says with a wink. Emma rolls her eyes, trying to hide a smile. God, this man is so refreshing after a week of isolation. Not that she'll let him know.

"Save the flirting for when we're out of the palace, um, what's your name?"

"Hook. Captain Hook," he replies with a bow.

Emma arches an eyebrow. "_However_ did you come up with a name like that?" He winks.

"I'm creative."

He takes her hand then, murmuring in her ear that if they run into trouble, she has to give him his sword, taking off his belt and slipping it under the cloak. She nods, and the two set off through the halls of Regina's castle.

He seems to know the halls well, deftly guiding her through mostly empty corridors and never once letting go of her hand. When they hear shouting from down the hallway, they break into a run.

* * *

When they finally make it to the docks, it's nearly nightfall. Emma and Hook haven't exchanged words, choosing instead to silently trek through the forest instead of risking being spotted in town. And with search parties undoubtedly pursuing them, talking seemed to be too much of a risk.

"Which one is yours?" Emma whispers. Hook grins at her and points to one of the larger ships at the end of the docks, colored brightly, sails billowing in the twilight breeze. "Impressive," she allows, following him up the ramp to his ship. A stocky, short man in a bright red hat greets her, ridding her of her clothes.

Hook turns to her. "Smee will get you a change of clothes," he says, eyes traveling down her body. "I doubt you'll want to stay in those rags."

"Eyes up, Sailor," Emma snaps. He grins widely. "Why did you rescue me?"

"Change first," Hook says dismissively, "And find me at the helm when you're done. We'll talk then."

"Count on it," Emma says as Hook turns away from her and begins barking orders to his crew. Smee gestures for her to follow him and leads her below deck.

"You'll be sleepin' in the Cap'n's cabin," he says, pointing out a door at the end of a tight corridor. "We set up a cot on 'is orders too, so you can sleep good." Emma smiles.

"Thank you, Mister Smee," she says, opening the door to the cabin and walking in.

The first thing she notices is that the cabin is shockingly clean. She chuckles at that, peering at his wardrobe and wondering if he has anything not made from leather.

On the cot lie several dark red and black dresses, corsets, skirts, and scarves, and Emma finds herself wondering how many other women have been given this treatment. But upon closer inspection, she realizes that the clothes all appear to be brand new.

The first dress she tries on, a lacy burgundy one, is extremely comfortable . . . except for the fact that it is probably the most low-cut thing she's ever worn in her life. Slipping out of that, she slips into a black dress with no sleeves, and sighs when she realizes that it too is low-cut. Sighing, she walks over to his wardrobe and grabs one of his black shirts, slipping into it and then grabbing one of the red corsets and lacing it up. She then takes the only skirt available, a white one that is almost all lace, and tucks the black shirt in with a huff. Braiding her hair out of her face, she then exits the cabin and finds her way back above deck.

Hook is where he said he would be, at the helm, steering the ship and humming a song she doesn't know. He smiles when he spots her coming up to him, and she internally curses him for being so freaking attractive.

"Is that my shirt?" he asks when she finally reaches his side.

"Considering the fact that everything you had for me showed a bit more than I'd care to let you see," she mutters, granting him a nod. He chuckles.

"Well lass, the pirate look suits you." This makes her want to smile, but she doesn't.

"Why did you rescue me?" she asks bluntly, "Who sent you?"

"You're quite tactful," he comments, snickering. She pokes him hard in the arm at that, and he laughs. "I was charged with rescuing you by your dear parents." She arches a doubtful eyebrow.

"My parents sent a _pirate _to rescue me?" she asks skeptically.

"I wasn't their first choice, lass," Hook says with a wry smirk, "They've sent several knights in this past week. None came back." Emma feels a chill go through her veins at the thought of these brave and noble men having their hearts ripped out because she wanted to have fun. "Your parents got desperate, they sought me out." He grins at her. "And here we are."

"Here we are," she echoes softly. "How long until we get back?"

"I took a shortcut to get you," Hook tells her, "But since they will now be actively trying to find you, we are taking a more . . . hidden route."

"How long?" Emma repeats, hands on her hips.

"Three weeks." Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Are you serious? How long did your shortcut take?"

"Three days."

"_Fucking_-"

"Gladly, Princess, but you must understand that if we try going down that path, we will be caught," he interjects, and she blushes unwillingly. Choosing to ignore the blatant innuendo, she sighs.

"Alright. Fine," she mutters. "But at our first stop we're getting me new dresses."

His eyes roam over her figure without shame, and he frowns. "I wouldn't count on it."

* * *

He returns to the ship after their first stop with three new dresses. One is a light sea foam green and covers her chest well, but cuts off at her knees. A second is a stone gray dress with off the shoulder sleeves that shows cleavage, but not as much as her other dresses. The last is a deep red dress with black lace that Emma refuses to admit she absolutely adores.

"I thought you didn't want me in other dresses," Emma quips as he tosses the dresses over to her. She sees his eyes widen at her wardrobe choice- the insanely low-cut burgundy dress he claims to have picked out himself.

"I'm starting to regret this gesture," he tosses back. She smirks, striding up to him.

"Thank you," she says sincerely.

"For the dresses or for saving your life?" he asks. She shrugs.

"Whichever you prefer." He chuckles at that and barks at Smee to take her dresses to his cabin. She hands them off to the stout little man, who then scurries below deck. She follows Hook up to the helm, standing beside him in silence until finally she grows bored.

"I hate to be that person . . . but how much longer?"

"Already tired of my presence, love?" Hook asks, eyes glittering with mischief. She merely looks at him until he finally replies, "Two more weeks, Emma. And then you'll be back to your balls and fine gowns." His eyes coast down to her chest and then back up again. "A shame. These fit you so well." She rolls her eyes.

"Don't get used to it," Emma snorts, "I'll be in those new dresses starting tomorrow."

"It is said that the best things in life are fleeting," Hook says, though this time his eyes remain fixed on hers. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Emma narrows her eyes at him, but the small smile on her face removes any malice he might have interpreted.

* * *

One night, Emma sits idly on her cot in the Captain's quarters, sipping on a bottle of rum she found stashed in his wardrobe, when Hook barges in, his eyes dark with anger. Emma sits up immediately and holds out the rum, allowing him a likely unhealthy swig. He offers her the bottle and she just shakes her head.

"What's with you?" she asks. She had heard his voice from above deck and he had sounded angry, but she had figured it was nothing worse than usual. He yelled at his crew often, because most of them were idiots. He plops down on his bed, taking another long drink from the bottle.

"I sometimes forget that not all pirates follow the same code as I," Hook answers, eyes downcast. Emma frowns, sitting farther up and leaning towards him. Her fingers skim the soft fabric of her gray dress.

"What happened?" she asks, eyes not leaving him.

It's strange, as infuriatingly annoying as he can be, she's found a kindred spirit in him. He's the only one on the entire damn ship with whom she can hold decent conversation, and despite his constant innuendos and roving glances, he has never tried to touch her, despite the fact that they have shared a cabin for the past two weeks.

She's also learned so much with him.

Just yesterday, he showed her the inner workings of his ship, the roles each member of his crew play in making the Roger set sail. She has been to three little port towns, and been able to really interact with her people in a way she never has before. The foods, the drinks, the sights and sounds of bustling ports . . . it's a dream come true for a restless wanderer.

"The cook," Hook says finally, his tone gruff, as if he had been yelling. Emma frowns and tilts her head slightly. The cook was fairly new to his crew, picked up at their second landing.

"What about him?" Emma presses, "What did he do?"

"Nothing. It's what he said," Hook says, "And I shouldn't have gotten so angry, but he was out of line, and I-"

"What did he say?" Emma asks quietly, moving from her cot and kneeling in front of him. Her hand finds its way to his hook and begins stroking it absentmindedly.

Hook's eyes grow dark again. "He wanted to know . . . how much gold he would have to give me to bed you." Emma's blood runs cold at that, and she finds herself speechless. "I told him you were not for sale, and he . . ."

"Hook . . ."

"He asked me what made you any different from the other worthless whores I've bedded." Emma flinches at that, her fingers curling into fists.

"I'll punch him tomorrow," she mutters.

Hook looks up at her sort of sheepishly. "You won't have to . . . he's down in the brig now and, ah . . . not in the best shape." Emma smiles at him, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

"My hero," she murmurs wryly before leaning back and taking a seat on his bed next to him. He looks over at her with an odd glint in his eye, but says nothing else. They sit in a companionable silence until she dozes off with her head against his shoulder.

* * *

Emma knows that they're nearing her home by the rolling mountains she spots over the horizon. She begins telling crew members stories of her life, from her drunken escapades to her first ball as a teenage girl. She feels bad for thinking them all idiots before- they might not be bright, but she can see that underneath the brutish exteriors and rough mannerisms are good hearted sailors.

She finds a new favorite spot in the crow's nest, relieving the watchman of his duty, though she suspects Hook sends him elsewhere to keep watch all the same. She spends hours in silence, up there, eyes roaming the vast valleys and mountains on one side, and the endless, rolling waves on the other.

She also finds herself sneaking glances at the ship's captain often.

Sometimes he'll catch her and send her a dirty smirk, and sometimes he'll not notice and she'll watch him, the utter focus that takes on his entire being as he becomes essentially one with the ship.

She almost doesn't want her little adventure to end. She loves the smell of the sea, the brisk wind in her hair, and going into town and buying beautiful things from street vendors. She loves wearing these comfortable, casual dresses, and more than that, she loves feeling completely sexy whenever she catches Hook's appreciative gaze.

Most of all, she loves feeling like a part of a community.

Of course she loves her family at home- her parents are so very incredible and all of the people who helped raise her. But growing up, she always felt a sense of isolation. What friends she did have were other royal children, and would come and go with their parents for business. She enjoyed the princes sometimes, but most of them would refuse to allow some silly girl to join in on their "quests" and games, and she would be forced to sit through tea parties with the other princesses, who didn't understand her burning desire to travel and fight and see everything imaginable.

These sailors are just like her. They understand that the sea is in her blood, and they allow her to embrace it fully. Never before has she ever felt so strong and capable in her life. It's thrilling and addictive and . . .

She doesn't want it to end.

When Hook climbs into the crow's nest and leans beside her, waiting for her to acknowledge him, she keeps her eyes out at sea.

"What will you do?" she asks, "When all of this is done?"

He frowns. "I have things yet to be accomplished. I will continue working closer toward my goal." She turns to face him.

"Your goal?"

"Revenge," he says simply. Emma studies him curiously.

"How exactly did my parents pay you, Hook?" She looks down. "I mean, you have enough gold-"

"A man can never have too much gold, darling."

"-and you haven't been charged with anything by the courts. So what gives? What was your price for rescuing me?" Hook stares her down for a long while, eyes intense and stormy. She holds his gaze defiantly.

"Information," he replies simply. Emma's eyebrow arches and she leans in. "On an escaped prisoner of theirs."

"Which prisoner?" Emma asks.

"Rumpelstiltskin," he answers with venom in his voice. "I have been searching for him for years to exact my revenge."

"He took your hand," Emma guesses. He nods.

"Smart lass." She gives him a tight smile.

"But he took more than that, didn't he? The hatred in your eyes, that's how I looked when-" she cuts off, biting her lip. Too much. She's saying too much. He gestures for her to continue, eyes beseeching. ". . . when I found out that Regina killed the Huntsman."

"Who?"

"I met him many times when I would sneak out of the castle," Emma explains, "But it turns out that was no accident. He was being controlled by Regina- she had his heart. And when he tried to fight it . . ."

"She crushed it," Hook finishes bleakly. Emma nods, shutting her eyes. Hook stays silent for several minutes, and it's just them and the breeze. Finally, he shifts, prompting her to open her eyes and look over at him, and he lifts up his sleeve, revealing a crude and simple tattoo with a name on it: Milah.

"Rumpelstiltskin took more than your hand from you," Emma murmurs, "Didn't he?"

"Aye," Hook whispers, pulling the sleeve back down. "She was married to him, and then ran away with me. He found us, and ripped her heart out right in front of me before taking my hand." He turns away. "I went to Neverland and for years . . . I have been plotting my revenge. Nothing else has mattered to me, and now my vengeance is so close I can taste it and-"

"You realize that it's useless." He whirls around, eyes aflame. "It won't bring Milah back, Hook. All it will do is hurt more people, and if you do something stupid others will have to pay for it, and others will die . . ." His eyes soften as he notices the tears in her eyes and he reaches for her hand.

"Emma . . ."

"Those men, sent before you," Emma whispers softly, "They were good men. Noble men. And they all died because I wanted to drink away my stupid fucking pain, and now their families will loathe me-" She cuts off, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry, Hook."

"As am I, lass," he murmurs, squeezing her hand. "But I am glad I got the chance to rescue you. You are bloody brilliant. Amazing." She smiles.

"You aren't so bad yourself. For a pirate," she adds cheekily. "But I stand by what I said. Don't let his death take away your life. You are more than this quest, Hook."

"What else have I to live for?" he questions.

"The Roger would sink without you," Emma says, his self-deprecation stinging her a bit. "Moreover, I would miss you. Who would steal me away from my palace and take me on adventures?" He scoffs at her.

"Your parents would sooner die."

"Then they don't have to know."

He rolls his eyes, and she wonders how the hell he can still look so devastatingly handsome while doing so.

* * *

When her castle comes into view, a little dot on the horizon, she climbs down from the crow's nest and finds Hook at the helm. He glances over at her, eyes wistful.

She decides to be completely stupid.

"How long until we reach port?" she asks. He thinks for a short moment.

"A few hours," he replies. A few more hours left of her adventure with pirates. A few more hours with this dangerously handsome swashbuckler who torments himself every day with memories yet still takes care of her. The pirate who defended her honor, but still managed to make her feel like the sexiest woman alive. The pirate who makes her heart beat faster for the first time since the Huntsman. The only man who could have as many scars as she does. She takes a deep breath and then her hand finds his good one.

"Then let's make them count," she whispers. He turns to face her, eyes wide with surprise and something else entirely. Wordlessly, he nods and follows her back to his cabin.


	9. paradise

**Title: paradise  
**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: When she was just a girl, she expected the world. But it flew away from her reach, so she ran away in her sleep.  
**

_When she was just a girl_

_She expected the world_

Her mother had always described Neverland as a dark, dangerous place. Deceptively enchanting, a place where children with families who loved them should never even dream of going. The realm was dominated by a vicious boy named Peter Pan, with several bandits doing his every whim.

But Emma could not help but dream of Neverland often. She did not picture it as a deadly land, but thought of it as an oasis where she would never have to grow up. She imagined roaming the forests, sailing with pirates, and swimming with mermaids. She pictured adventures that would never have to end, and being young forever.

She imagined never having to carry the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders.

But her imagination was not enough to give her the life of her dreams. She couldn't run away and sail off into the great unknown- she had a responsibility to her kingdom, as despised as it was. She didn't believe in destiny, but she knew she had little choice.

Besides, if Neverland was for children who never grew up, she was running out of time. It was her sixteenth birthday, and she was to attend the ball that would mark the beginning of her transition from princess to future queen.

_But it flew away from her reach_

_So she ran away in her sleep_

She sneaks out of the ball early, and though she could have sworn her mother saw her, she is not stopped. Her ridiculous ballgown is already unlaced before she is even in her room, and she completely rids herself of it upon closing her door. Not even caring about how completely peeved her mother will be, she then grabs the dagger her father had given her last year and sliced open her corset, tossing it to the ground.

"I'm fairly certain that's not proper etiquette, lass," comes a voice from behind her. Still wielding her dagger, Emma whirls around and finds herself staring at . . .

A pirate?

Well, that's new.

He gives her a wry smirk and steps forward with a flourish, revealing a hook where his hand should be. Emma's eyes widen and she looks up at him defiantly as he advances toward her.

"Neither is breaking into someone's room and failing to point it out until after she's out of her clothes," she tosses back. "Who the hell are you?"

"Killian Jones, at your service," he says with a wink. "But you would probably know me by a different name."

"Hook," she breathes.

"There should be a 'Captain' in there somewhere."

"Show me your ship, then!" she challenges. He raises an eyebrow cockily.

"Are you sure, Princess? My next stop is far from here." A huge smile blossoms across Emma's face.

"Perfect."

_Dreamed of para- para- paradise_

_Para- para- paradise_

_Para- para- paradise_

_Every time she closed her eyes_

He gives her a sprinkle of pixie dust on her first night in Neverland, and she flies in circles around his ship. He watches her as she soars through the misty night air with a soft smile, feeling something spark alive in his chest for the first time in years.

She finds herself watching him constantly, drawn to him and addicted to the way she feels around him. He lives the life she had wanted every day of her life, and lives it remarkably. She relishes the sea air, the countless stars in the night sky, and the carefree atmosphere of this new realm.

She asks him the next morning if he'll take her to the mainland, but he simply shakes his head and tells her she's not ready for that just yet.

"What do you mean by that?" she demands, "I'm not just some helpless little girl."

"Everyone's a helpless child in Neverland," he replies calmly. "Even those just on the brink of growing up."

"And what about you?" she asks quietly, "Are you a helpless child here?"

He doesn't reply, but his azure eyes bore into hers, expression intense and probing.

"Where do you wish to go first?" he relents finally, pulling out a map and opening it. She grins, closes her eyes, and lets her finger pick the spot of their first adventure.

_When she was just a girl_

_She expected the world_

_But it flew away from her reach_

_And the bullets catch in her teeth_

She thinks about him often. On the day of her seventeenth birthday, she wonders if he'll ever come back to her realm and whisk her away again. When she goes on her first solo diplomatic mission, she spends the ship ride thinking about the color of brown his hair was and the way it would blow in the ocean breeze.

Oh yes, she was completely in love with him. And she would bet her life that he would have loved her in the same way if she had been but a few years older.

Two princes ask for her hand in marriage, but none are the right fit. She finds herself comparing them all to what her mother calls an imaginary standard. But Emma doesn't care. None of the princes smell like the salt of the sea. None of the princes have eyes blue as the ocean sky. None of the princes call her "lass". None of the princes excite her beyond measure.

None of the princes compare to the pirate who is slowly being erased from her memory.

_Life goes on_

_It gets so heavy_

_The wheel breaks the butterfly_

_Every tear, a waterfall_

Nothing changes. Nothing ever does. In a sick and twisted irony, the Enchanted Forest becomes as frozen in time as Neverland. Kings and Queens still rule, pirates still pillage, and she still forgets.

It happens so slowly she doesn't even notice.

Neverland, as it must, becomes little more than a faded memory.

When she turns eighteen, she finds that she cannot recall the names of the men on Hook's crew or their faces. A year later, she cannot recall the color of her favorite flower or the time she was almost drowned by mermaids. She cannot recall the sights and sounds of the jungle, cannot remember how Hook's lips had tasted when she had spontaneously decided to kiss him. All that remains is the feeling of a dream at the back of her mind, desperately trying to claw its way back to her thoughts.

Her mother and father are the only ones to notice Emma's growing depression. More and more, she skips court sessions and they find her standing on her balcony overlooking the sea with a single tear rolling down her soft cheek.

The palace is suffocating to Emma. No matter where she goes on the grounds, she can feel the walls pressing on her. The air is stuffy, the rooms confining, the people of the court only adding to her immense pain. She isn't the princess they wanted, she isn't the savior they claim she is. She doesn't want any of it, not at all.

All she wants is the feeling of the sea breeze, the sound of billowing sails, and the sight of endless waters. Which is ridiculous, since the only sights conjured in her mind are blurry and incomplete, as if they were never there in the first place.

It frustrates her, angers her. She wants to scream, wants to cry, every moment of every day. But she can't, because she has a responsibility to her people. It's her burden, and she must bear it through her misery.

_In the night, the stormy night_

_She closed her eyes_

_In the night, the stormy night_

_Away she'd fly._

When she turns twenty-eight, she stands on her balcony, staring at the night sky, when her gaze settles on a particularly bright star. She blinks rapidly, tilting her head slightly and biting her lip.

Second star to the right . . .

"The years have been kind to you, lass." She whirls around, poised to call her guards when her eyes meet a pair of bright blue ones. The figure emerges from the shadows of her bedroom and grins at her. "Ah, yes, my beautiful duckling has grown into a swan," he murmurs softly, eying her appreciatively.

Her scream catches in her throat. "Who are you?" she whispers, "H-have we met before?" His eyes dim slightly and he halts his slow advance toward her.

"I had hoped this wouldn't happen," he murmurs quietly, "How long has it been?"

"Been? What do you mean?" Emma questions, unable to tear her gaze from his.

"Oh, right, you wouldn't remember. Ahh . . ." the man scratches behind his ear uncertainly, seeming to be deep in thought until he says, "Your age. How old are you?"

"Why do you want to know?" Emma asks suspiciously, "Who _are_ you?!"

"Your age!" he repeats, annoyed.

"Twenty eight!" she says finally, her voice rising. She's about to tell him exactly how annoyed she is and how he has no right to be asking questions when he's the one who broke into her palace in the first place, but her words get caught in her throat upon seeing his shocked expression.

"Has it truly been that long?" he murmurs quietly, "No wonder you've forgotten."

"Forgotten what?" Emma hisses, startled and beyond confused by the intensity of his gaze.

"This," he whispers, reaching her in two swift strides, taking her face in his course hands, and kissing her.

Neverland returns to her in rapid bursts of light and energy. The smell of the jungle, the spray of the sea, the songs of Hook's crew, and most of all . . . him. Everything becomes him. The pirate who gave her life so long ago and is giving it back to her now.

She pulls away with a breathless smile.

"Twelve years," she whispers, eyes sparkling like they hadn't in so long. He snorts.

"Lost track of time!" he says with a shrug. Brushing a strand of hair out of her face, his eyes grow serious. "You're different," he observes.

"So are you," Emma shoots back. "Some of the darkness is gone from your eyes."

"Because of you," he says smoothly, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. "You reminded me why I became a pirate in the first place." She rolls her eyes.

"And why did you?"

He winks. "Beautiful women and the sea." Leaning in closer, he murmurs into her ear, "Care to sail away one more time?"


End file.
